


Concerto in minor key for the tiniest violin

by Kahvi, Roadstergal



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Daddy Issues, Drinking, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Regret, Shapeshifting, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 06:58:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14971571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahvi/pseuds/Kahvi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roadstergal/pseuds/Roadstergal
Summary: A post-Civil War gapfiller.  Tony is feeling sorry for himself, and Peter might want to help out.  Who knows?The story came to me, then Kahvi kicked it up a notch with the second chapter.





	1. Chapter 1

Was there a certain amount of alcohol one could drink in order to forget?  To forget the arguments, the discord, the sense that the world was slipping out of your control like a nightmare, everything you did turning _worse_ , only you never woke up?  To forget battling your friends, the only ones who understood you, the man you had come to love?  To forget _Rhody_ – your conscience, your rock – unable to walk?

Half a bottle of Jack Daniel’s wasn’t doing it, Tony noted, collapsing on his bed – the firm pallet in the Avengers building, not the decadent memory foam bed in his New York home.  This was more appropriate, despite the name.  Avengers, really?  It was obscene.  There were no Avengers anymore, not a group joined by a common purpose, just fractured and hurting individuals.  A shield he had dragged back, flying just above the waves, his armor barely holding together, Friday giving him warnings about the impeding failure of his arc reactor until he testily told the program to shut the hell up.  The man who killed his parents was gone, a free man.  Steve, the man he had come to love, showing where his affections really lay.

Another good swallow of whiskey.  A burn that suffused his viscera, but left his brain cold and clear.

“Mister Stark?” An impossibly young voice pulled him back to himself.

Tony looked up, noting the silhouette in the doorway.  “Peter,” he muttered.  “I told you to go home.  Bought you a ticket.”

The figure walked closer.  “I switched it to tomorrow, Mister Stark.  I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m not, kid.  And I won’t be better tomorrow.  So just go home.”

The mattress bent slightly as the kid’s slight weight rested on it.  “I’m sorry about everything.”

“It’s not your fault,” Tony muttered.

“I know, but I’m still sorry, ya know.” The kid sighed.  “It was really cool, though…”

“Yeah.” Tony closed his eyes.  “So cool.” Discord and pain and disruption.  But hey, a cool _fight scene_.

“Sorry.”  The boy’s hand touched Tony’s chest gently, almost curiously.  The arc reactor.  Nerds always loved it.

“I’m sorry, kid, I’m not in a good way to geek out right now,” Tony sighed.

“I know,” the kid swallowed audibly.  “I just want to make you feel good.” He leaned close and kissed Tony on the lips.

The emotions that welled up in Tony were complex and distressing. “Peter,” he breathed.  “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“I do,” the kid replied, hovering over him, his face lit dimly from below by Tony’s blue glow.  “I’ve done this before, Mister Stark.  If it makes you feel good, I want to do it with you.”

What was Tony supposed to say?  No, don’t do this?  Don’t touch me like you love me, make me feel good just for one night?  I’m at my lowest, go away and make me feel lower?  He kissed the boy back instead, those lips so soft, so warm – and damn it all, so experienced, so sure and gentle.

And the boy was definitely not a virgin.  How had he learned to do this?  What giggling fellow teen – or perverted older man, like Tony – had taught him to touch so gently, exploring, pressing, moving his hand to another part of Tony’s body when he heard that involuntary hiss of pain?  Where had he bought that little pocket bottle of lubricant, how much had he practiced using it, to be so good at stretching Tony open?

Whatever the answers to these questions were, they didn’t include the use of a condom, and Tony should really be more worried about that.  Instead, he relished the feel of flesh on flesh, moaned as he was breached carefully and fucked so slowly and gently.  So deeply.

Peter took his mouth, took his body in hand, _took_ him, and thank every god he never believed in, he pressed so perfectly deeply inside that Tony briefly forgot everything except the motion of body on body, the dance of hands and lips, the fullness inside, the bursts of pain when Peter touched him on one of his many bruises or broken bones, a little spice to the delirious pleasure.  Orgasm, when it came with the help of Peter’s hand, was almost an afterthought.

“Feel better, Mister Stark?”

“That makes me feel old, kid,” Tony murmured.  But he _was_ old.  And he never felt it so much as today.  “Call me Tony.”

“Feel better… Tony?” the kid asked, pulling out and lying next to Tony, one arm carefully lying over his chest.

“Yeah,” he sighed.  “Thanks.” Tomorrow, the kid would be gone, back to school, back to his lovely aunt, back to his real life. Tomorrow, Tony would have to face the horror of Rhody’s paralysis, of the fracturing of the Avengers, of the disapproval of every international body, of the knowledge that the man he hoped might love him as much as he loved in return had, instead, thrown in his lot with the man who caused Tony so much pain.  But for tonight, there was alcohol, and pleasure, and this warm, sweet body, this boy who cared about him.

Not just as Iron Man, but as Tony. 

For one night, it was perfection.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter walked from the building, whistling under his breath. The guard outside did a double take, as he'd expected. Peter merely smiled at him.

"Hey, kid! How did you get in there?"

"Hello sir," Peter told him, brightly. "You weren't here when I came in."

"I've been on duty for the past five hours."

"I guess that's about when I got in, sir." He tried another smile. "I'm Peter Parker? I should be on some sort of list, I guess?"

The guard watches him with the sort of look Peter knew meant he was trying to work him out. He kept half an eye on Peter, and the other on a computer screen. Eventually, begrudgingly, he nodded.

"Have a nice day, sir." Peter gave him a little wave. He expected the guard would not have quite such a good day when he checked the security footage later. Then again, the only thing seen entering the building that day was a wasp, almost too minute to be picked up by the cameras.

When Tony stirred, half asleep, half drunkenly away, he caught a glimpse of the bedroom window. A flock of ravens flew off onto the distance. Oddly on synchrony, like they were one. Lucky bastards. He fell back into oblivion. 


	3. Chapter 3

"Oh, hi, Mister Stark! I wasn’t… wasn’t expecting you to call!”

Really? After what they did, after sneaking out to leave Tony to wake up alone – he wasn’t expecting Tony to call?  What kind of people was Peter sleeping with?  “Yeah, just wanted to make sure you got home okay.”

“Oh, yeah, totally, I’ve never flown first class before, it was awesome!  Thanks, Mister Stark!"

“Yeah.” Tony took a deep breath.  This wasn’t easy. “I wanted to talk to you about last night.  You know.  What you did.” The boy’s voice sounded genuinely puzzled.  “What about last night?  What did I do?”

Oh.  So it was like this.  And really, Tony couldn’t blame him.  A moment of stupidity, an infatuated young kid taking pity on a guy old enough to be his dad, and reasonably, regretting it the next day.  Well, Tony would give it to him.  He wouldn’t press it. “Nothing.  Be good, okay?  Don’t get in trouble or I’m going to come kick your ass.”

“Yes, sir.  I will, sir!  Thank you!”

Tony hung up.


End file.
